I Will Not Bow
by People Person I'm Not
Summary: After the battle for Moria and the defeat of Azog, Thorin decides he must leave to protect those he most loves. For the dwarves of Erebor, surviving without a king is not easy, but Thorin believes he did right by them.
1. Chapter 1

**This is chapter one of my new fic. I got the idea, and the title, from the Breaking Benjamin song "I Will Not Bow." There is more to come, and this focuses mainly on Thorin, Balin, and Dis/Fili/Kili.**

* * *

They had been cast out of their home. They had fled while the elves stood and watched, refusing to help. They had battled for a new home and lost far too many. They had so little left. And no one knew this better than the last of the line of Durin.

Thorin, son of Thrain, had lost in one battle his grandfather, father, brother, and brother-in-law. He had nothing. He did still have, he remembered, his sister and his sister-sons, but they would be better off without him. After all, the orcs had been hunting the line of Durin, and Thorin couldn't risk Dis and Fili and Kili being targeted by the successors of Azog. He had to leave.

He couldn't just run off. He had to leave something for Dis, so he went to Balin and asked for a piece of parchment and a pen. He then dashed off a quick note to Dis—

_Sister—_

_I'm sorry, but I can't put you and the boys at risk._

_Thorin._

He folded the paper neatly, scrawled Dis' name on the outside, and handed it to Balin. "Give this to Dis, please."

Balin looked at him worriedly. "Thorin, you, and her, have lost so many this day. Thror, Thrain, Frerin. You can't leave now. Think of what it will do to Dis."

"Azog specifically targeted the line of Durin," Thorin growled. "That puts Dis and Fili and Kili in danger. If I go away, that leaves only the most tenuous link between them and me. Them and the line of Durin. And we can lie, tell people that they are of a different lineage. They have to stay safe."

Thorin's face was stony, and Balin could only stare at the dwarf prince. In that instant he looked like a terrifying warrior king. One who would not take no for an answer, so Balin nodded seriously. "I will give it to Dis. Where will you go?"

"To make my fortune elsewhere," Thorin replied.

Balin sighed. "Then I wish you luck, laddie."

Thorin nodded once in acknowledgement, then turned sharply on his heel and left.

Balin watched the receding form of Thorin, now the ruler of the dwarves of Erebor. Then he looked at the note in his hand, sighed, and went to find Dis.

* * *

Dis, much like the rest of her family, was a fighter, but her two young sons had forced her to stay away from the battle. Fili and Kili were far too young to be left alone, and Kili was only a few months old and so could not be without his mother. He was still suckling, and Dis needed to stay, if only for that.

Balin knocked on one of the tent poles and Dis burst out, dark hair flying and unsheathed sword in her hand. When she saw Balin she relaxed. "Oh, it's just you. Come in."

Balin followed Dis into the tent, smiling softly when he saw tiny Fili clutching an even tinier swaddled Kili. He had seen so much death that day that a reminder of life and hope was more than welcome, and life and hope was what the two tiny dwarflings represented.

"What is it?" Dis asked nervously, running a hand through her long hair. Usually dwarf women wore their hair elaborately plaited and pulled up, but free-spirited Dis chose to wear her hair loose like her brothers.

"The battle is over," Balin told her carefully, trying to let as little emotion as possible show on his face.

Dis bit her lip, waiting for the news. Fili watched his mother with big blue eyes, recognizing worry on her face.

Balin took a deep breath. "Azog swore to wipe out the line of Durin. He beheaded Thrain. Thror is missing, and Frerin fell as well."

Dis sat down hard, looking as if she was in shock. "My husband?"

Balin merely shook his head, and Dis crumpled. "Do you have _any_ good news?" she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper, and shaking nearly as much as her body was.

"Thorin survived, alone of the line of Durin who went to battle this morning." Dis perked up minutely and looked around, as if Thorin had snuck into the tent while she hadn't been looking. Balin steeled himself to break her heart even further. "He left. He left to protect you and the lads. Azog was hunting the line of Durin, and Thorin thinks that will continue after his death. He believes that if he leaves it will be easier to claim that the three of you are not of the line. He doesn't want any more harm to come to you or your sons. He gave me this to give to you." Balin handed Dis Thorin's note. She read it quickly and quietly, then pulled her knees up to her chest, sobbing silently.

* * *

Thorin stood on top of the ledge, looking down at what was left of his home, his people, his family. He knew he really shouldn't leave, but it was necessary. Balin and Dwalin would do honorably by the remaining dwarves of Erebor. He was not needed.

He couldn't stay much longer. Every additional minute he stood there increased the chance of being searched for, increased the risk of being found, and he could not be dragged back. He needed to leave. It was in everyone's best interest. He had left specifically to protect Dis and Fili and Kili, but now that he thought about it, he was keeping all the dwarves below him safe. If Azog had survived he would come after Thorin, stopping at nothing to kill him, and if he hadn't survived his kin would likely carry out that mission in his memory.

The first step was the hardest, then he merely focused on moving his feet, step after step after step, away from the family and people he loved. As he walked he sang softly, the song a reminder of what he had lost.

"_Far over the Misty Mountains cold…_"

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**Thoughts?**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, here's chapter two! Thanks to my reviewers-Oblivian03, ThorinKiliandFili4ever, and Cockapoo.**

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Balin had rejoined Dwalin and the other survivors of the battle. It was now their task to take care of the bodies of the dead. There were far too many—instead of giving them proper burials they built funeral pyres. They did, however, bury the bodies of Thror and Frerin, saying a last farewell to their dead king and prince.

As the smoke rose, Dwalin turned to his brother. "Thorin—where is he?"

Balin looked down. "He chose to leave to protect Dis and the laddies."

Dwalin swore. "_Now_, when we need him more than ever? He is our king now, and he just leaves?" Dwalin was furious, and the other dwarves were slowly edging away from him and Balin. With his hair and his tattoos and his weapons and his sheer bulk combined with the anger radiating off him made him terrifying to behold.

"Dwalin…" Balin said, a warning tone in his voice. "Now is not the time." Unsaid remained that there was far too much to be done, far too many dead to burn. Time and anger could not be wasted on one dwarf.

Dwalin nodded once, face set angrily, and returned to the task of putting bodies on pyres.

Balin sighed heavily. "I believe that it will be our job now."

"What?" Dwalin asked, voice husky, without looking up.

"To take Thorin's place, do well by our people. Find us a new home. We have to do this for him. We are cousins, no matter how distant, and a branch oh the line of Durin should do this." Balin looked up at his brother, face sincere. "To have Dis do it would negate why Thorin left. It has to be us."

* * *

Dis was packing everything in the tent, preparing to leave. Thorin had left to protect her and her sons, and she would go one step further in keeping the three of them safe by leaving as well. It had to be done, she reasoned. She didn't know where she was going to go, but she needed to leave. She would become a more proper dwarven lady in order to avoid being recognized as Dis, daughter of Thrain, as Dis of the line of Durin.

Everything was packed, so Dis started on her hair, fingers quickly braiding and weaving until it was in the elaborate updo she had been forced to wear whenever her grandfather held court as King Under the Mountain, the times she had been made to attend as granddaughter of the king.

There was a tug on Dis' skirt. "What goin' on, Mama?" Fili asked, blue eyes huge. "Where Daddy? Where Gwandfatter? Where Unca Fowin? Where Unca Fwewin?" He looked so upset at their absence, but also so hopeful. Dis knew she would have to break his heart, and it was killing her.

Dis knelt to pick Fili up. "They left, Fili. They won't come back."

Fili's lower lip wobbled, then he burst into tears. Dis held him close, stroking the golden hair so like her husband's. Fili strongly resembled him, while it appeared that Kili would have the dark hair of the Durin line.

"We're leaving, too," Dis said. "It's dangerous for us to stay here. So we are going to go on an adventure. It will be fun."

Fili looked up. "Adventure? Like hewoes?"

Dis smiled softly. "Sure. But a part of this is you can't mention Durin or Thror or Thrain or Thorin. It's against the rules, okay?"

Fili nodded, and Dis sighed. Fili would soon forget that he was ever a Durin, and Kili would never know of his lineage. It hurt Dis, but she saw the logic. She could not risk losing her sons, all she had left.

She gathered her bags, nestled Kili in his sling, and left the tent, not to return.

* * *

Thorin entered the city, feeling immediately out of place. The city was a city of men, as Dale had been, and all the citizens towered over him. Even some of the children were taller than him, or close. He was tall for a dwarf, used to commanding attention for both that and his ancestry. Here, however, he was either ignored or taunted, children pulling his hair and giggling as they ran off.

He found a forge and entered. The smith didn't even look up from his work on hearing his footsteps. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for work," Thorin replied, stomach churning at the words. How far he had fallen.

"I'm not hiring," the smith growled. "Business is down-people only want dwarf work."

You won't even hire a dwarf?" Thorin asked, and the smith looked up. Thorin extended his hand. "Bundin, son of Dauskin," he said, giving the fake name he had decided on, "of the dwarves of Erebor."

"Erebor?" the smith asked suspiciously.

"The Lonely Mountain," Thorin explained, giving the more common name for the mountain.

The smith's eyes widened. The most sought-after dwarven work had come out of the Lonely Mountain before it had fallen. The smiths of Erebor had been the ones who worked not only in common metals, but gold and precious jewels as well.

"Are you truly of the Lonely Mountain?" the smith asked. Thorin nodded, and the smith smiled, just a little. "I'm Holf. Glad you'll be working with me."

Thorin nodded in acknowledgement and looked around the forge. It was nothing like the ones at Erebor, the ones he had learned to work on, but it would be easy enough to adapt. A forge was a forge. The hardest part would be the height of the forge, but that could be worked around. He could figure it out. He was a prince of Erebor, and he could adjust. He'd already adjusted to the loss of his home and of his family, as much as he could. What was one thing more?

He reminded himself that he was doing all this for Dis, for Fili and Kili, for his people. He would survive. He could do this.


End file.
